Perchance to Dream
by Dusk to Ashes
Summary: Yet another of Yohji's girlfriends is killed, and twisted dreams plague him. Aya appears to be the only way out... (yaoi no da)


Perchance to Dream  
another prime example of me, trying to be angsty and ending up silly... --;  
Warnings: yaoi (limey Aya x Yohji, Ken + Omi)  
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Leaning back in a chair with his feet resting on another one recently abandoned by a co-worker, Yohji looked half-pityingly around him at the three mobs of schoolgirls where once had stood a tri of promising young florists. The older man shook his head and sighed- so young. Closing one eye halfway, he looked despairingly at the half-dozen or so young ladies- all about 15 years old- who refused to understand his rule. Their incessant babbling made it hard to do much of anything but slowly... fall... asleep... He shook his head, opening his eyes. It was much too dangerous to let your guard down in this business; if the fangirls didn't get you, Aya would.  
"Oi, oi, ladies, you know what Aya says; 'Paying customers only,'" he argued, to which a chorus of comments along the lines of "Can I help it if I'm broke?" replied. "Really, you're wasting your time... try again in three years or so." Luckily for him, this dissuaded the lot of them, and they all scurried off to join Aya's, Omi's, or Ken's groupies. Or so he thought. One last woman stepped up, grinning wryly. Yohji immediately sat up, adjusting his sunglasses. "How may I be of service?" Several schoolgirls glared daggers at the newcomer, who bore an almost striking resemblance to Manx, excepting of course her unique taste in footwear.  
A few flowers and a pick-up line or two later, Sumireko had "dinner plans" for the evening. Yohji waved as she finally left, a relief to the fangirls. Eventually the crowds dissipated, leaving four rather tired young men to clean up. Deciding Ken could handle the sweeping, the busy blond grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He opened it just in time to bump right into Manx.  
"Hey, Manx! Fancy meeting you here," Yohji greeted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she stepped inside. She brushed him off without a second thought, informing the group that they had a mission. "Ch'. Sorry, Manx, but I've got places to be... you'll have to count me out on this one," he answered, slipping out the door. Aya shook his head at Yohji's retreating back, muttering about priorities. Ken nodded and they all made for the basement. Omi, the last one down the spiral stairs, shut the door behind them.  
Yohji walked down the street, at once enjoying the weather and wishing he'd borrowed Aya's car- not that he'd have let him. Checking the address he'd written on a scrap of paper one last time, he walked up to the intercom on the outer apartment building and pressed the button.  
"Oi, Sumireko, ready?" He stepped back a moment to wait, but as soon as he had, the red-haired girl stepped out of the door right next to him. She had on a sleeveless black dress and a transparent silvery jacket that didn't seemed to do much in the way of warmth. Her wavy hair was mostly tied back in a bun with just a few strands hanging down past her neck. She was a little on the short side, but had a decidedly attractive smile. It was definitely looking like a nice evening, and they set off for her father's restaurant.  
Refusing to let her date pick his poison, Sumireko ordered for them both. It was a pleasant surprise when her "usual" turned out to be five-star sashimi. They had just begun to eat when the lights all went out.  
"What's going on?" Yohji demanded of no one in particular.  
"I don't know!" Sumireko replied, nervous. Her eyes shone in the dark, reflecting what little light there was. Suddenly, a scream broke the tense silence. "Oh, God... Yohji, that sounded like..." Another scream, more panicked, followed. "Okaasan..." Before he knew what was going on, Sumireko had him by the hand and was dragging him through the pitch-blackness. They went through a door and up some stairs where an independently powered red light shone on the young woman's hair. All of a sudden, Yohji's mind jumped to another time and place- the Liott club. Maki dragged him through the familiar maze of corridors... or was it Asuka? Yohji jerked himself back to reality.  
"Where are we going?" he asked as they rounded another corner, narrowly missing a trashcan.  
"My dad's office; it's..." the panicky girl answered, halting suddenly and covering her mouth to stop a scream. "...right here..." she finished before collapsing onto the ground. Yohji stepped around her, glancing inside the room but not entering. There was blood on the floor, and a telltale dart in the woman's- apparently Sumireko's mother's- neck.  
"Mission?" he asked, glaring at the floor and lighting a cigarette. Ken stepped around from his position just inside the door, blood staining his bugnuks. He nodded curtly. "Shit." Flicking the cigarette, Yohji leaned on the doorjamb and looked down at Sumireko. "You guys'd better get outta here, pronto," he advised. Omi, Ken, and Aya filed out the door, the last giving Yohji a disapproving look as he stepped over Sumireko. "Hey," the smoker called after them, "What... what were they up to?"  
"Takatori," answered Aya simply, walking on.  
"Another variation of the Freude chemical," Omi clarified; Ken glared at the wall as though he wanted to shred the entire building. The two hurried to catch up to Aya as footsteps- probably those of security guards- drew nearer. Yohji threw his cigarette onto the floor and cheerfully squished it in frustration before dropping to the ground, bending over Sumireko. The footsteps rounded a corner and the innocent assassin did his best to look terrified.  
"She dragged me up here as soon as we heard the screams... she couldn't take the sight of blood-" he explained in a rush. The three men stepped forward, and the man in front grinned savagely.  
"The poor thing," he replied, drawing his gun and slowly pointing it at Sumireko. Yohji's eyes widened, and with a lightning-fast flick of his wrist, the man with the gun and the guy next to him were "tied up," clutching at their throats. Balinese moved like the wind, entangling the third man as he kicked the others' feet out from under them- but too late. The third man, with his last breath, had whipped out a gun. Time slowed to a halt as the bullet traced its path towards the unconscious girl. Sumireko's green eyes opened wide, just in time to see the blood spill out of her chest, and close a last time.  
"DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL!" Yohji screamed. Turning abruptly on his heel, he stormed out of the building via the fire escape with a look of rage and disgust on his face that might have made Aya cringe. He didn't have a place in mind, but he had a definite plan to get dead drunk and preferably never wake up. Belatedly he realized he hadn't bothered to hang the men up, but they weren't worth the effort anyway. He calmed down long enough to figure out where the hell he was and made for the nearest bar.  
Six hours and God-only-knows-how-many drinks later, Yohji found himself aggravatingly conscious and therefore undeniably alive. Throwing his money down on the counter and then handing the bartender the six other dollars, he walked out, aimlessly and probably past controlling himself enough to pick a destination anyway. Half-amazed at his inability to get hit by a car, Yohji found himself several blocks away, standing in front of the darkened Koneko. *I guess I'm not as drunk as I'd hoped,* he thought, taking out his key and slipping inside. Relocking the door, he half-fell down the stairs and landed on the couch, asleep almost instantly.  
His dreams took on the bulk of the alcohol in his system, full of blinding bright colors and fractured yet familiar shapes. He tossed and turned as Sumireko, Asuka, and almost every girl he'd ever met ran away from him in different directions, calling to him and smiling before each beautiful face was overcome by shock and horror. One by one they fell, as neons that burned his eyes slipped away into a formless white. In the dream, he glanced down at his hands; they were covered in bright, fresh, red blood. As he stared, terrified, it thickened and swirled around, finally shaping itself into the hair of the last person Yohji expected- much less wanted- in his dreams: Aya. The other man's hands were bloodstained as well, and he walked towards Yohji, wrapping his arms around him. It suddenly occurred to the dreamer that the only thing he had on was his faithful sunglasses, pushed up on top of his head. As Aya began to kiss him, Yohji discovered that he couldn't move.  
*That's IT; I've had ENOUGH of this dream!* he thought, and to his great relief, it worked. He sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes. It seemed to be light outside, but the clock near him read 5:30. *Must be evening,* he decided. He yawned loudly, looking around the darkened room. Lying back down the other way to turn on a lamp, he didn't notice a hand sneak up from the floor until it was too late. He gasped as strange fingers groped around in his pants; he couldn't help it- it felt good. Finally regaining control of himself, he grabbed the mysterious hand by the wrist and pulled. Aya smiled back at him.  
Yohji woke for a second time, panting and trying desperately to make sure he was in the real world this time. A dream within a dream- designed to give a guy heart attacks. Seconds later, he got his reality check as a five-alarm hangover set it. He winced and closed his eyes for a few seconds, but the insane colors so reminiscent of his dream refused to fade. Eventually, he gave up and got up, searching for something to eat until it hit him that it would only make him sicker.  
*I guess it makes sense, in dream logic anyway...* Yohji mused against his pounding head. *It would certainly put an end to my problems with women.* He laughed a little, but was forced to stop as it made the pain worse. *Not to mention that he's just as much a murderer as I am...* On that depressing note, the agitated individual flopped back onto the couch to await the evening, and his next crisis.  
~~~~~~~  
Night came, as it always did. Yohji found himself at another bar, surrounded by his usual harem of beautiful women. He swirled his drink around and cast seductive over-the-shades glances, but something troubled him. Though completely in his element, the playboy felt detached, uninterested... almost bored. Leaving several young women sorely disappointed, the sober but distracted florist left, wandering the sidewalks. Off on a completely different train of thought, it suddenly hit him: the dream.  
*Holy shit...* but that was it, the reason his usual mixed drinks and "parsley" just didn't hold any interest. *Relax,* he told himself, *you've just had one too many again... get home, get a cold shower, and it'll go away in the morning.* Taking his advice, the tense man dried off at home a little later before tugging on a pair of boxers and sliding into bed. Fifteen minutes or more later his tired eyes finally rested, and five or so after that saw him asleep- and dreaming. It went on, night after night. After a while, he couldn't remember the last time he'd gone out; sure, it wasn't like he'd suddenly quit smoking, but that was an addiction. *An unhealthy addiction-* it actually wasn't that bad of an analogy.  
Even so, Yohji knew it was stupid and had to stop; he'd rather settle down and have a family than live for the pleasing illusions in his dreams. Still, it was almost amusing when Aya turned around and met the stares focused on him, his eyes cold and harsh as ever but almost uncertain until he snapped off an order for Yohji to stop spacing out and get back to work... Snapping out of the reverie he'd sunken into, the blond man did just that, noticing for the first time an attractive dark-haired woman who appeared to be in need of assistance. He stood up and walked over to her, tossing out an offer of "help." The words rang hollow at first, but confident he was merely out of practice, the once and returning playboy kept on, resting an arm around the customer's shoulders. Omi noticed, but instead of sighing or shaking his head as usual, he smiled, very glad that his fellow florist had gotten past whatever had had him so out of sorts. Ken, standing nearby, exchanged a knowing look with the younger boy and smiled, too. Aya, oblivious as ever, glared them back to the task at hand.  
Content and confident, Yohji checked the glowing numbers on his rarely-used alarm clock as he got home that night: 3:19 AM, not bad. Stripping off his rumpled clothes, he pulled up the sheets; the last thing on the lucky man's mind was Aya. Despite all this, he woke up with a start not more than two hours later. Curling up into a ball, he made up his scrambled mind that he had to end things that second. Fortunately for his ego, he couldn't even find the phone book in the dark and dropped off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.  
He got to the Koneko early that next day and decided to dash downstairs for a quick smoke. Halfway down the stairs, he heard voices coming from Omi's room. It was... Friday? No, Thursday. *So why would anyone be...?* Curious, he walked quietly down the stairs and snuck a glance inside, immediately wishing he hadn't. Ken sat on Omi's bed, wearing nothing but shorts and a pair of socks; seated on the floor next to him and pulling off his sweater was Aya. *Is that enough?* he asked himself, turning to flatten himself against the wall. Yet at the same time, he felt almost what could have been an extra bit of hope, along the line of '*At least I know he goes that way...*' From inside the room, he heard Ken talking.  
"Hurry up, Aya-kun! I'd think you'd at least be past embarrassing- hey, where are you-" Before he could process the information, Yohji felt a sadly familiar hand on his shoulder. He turned, slowly, trying to look casual as he smiled at Aya. Needless to say, it threw the sleepless man off somewhat to see the red-haired man's furious blushing.  
"Yohji-kun. How much did you... I can explain," Aya insisted, decidedly suspicious. counting himself lucky, Yohji assumed an appropriately suspicious cross-armed expression. He didn't even have to speak as the nervous swordsman went on. "I owed Ken a favor, I-" but even Aya seemed to realize how conspicuous the situation was. It did not help that Ken came to the door, still half-naked. One helpless look from Aya got the ex-J-leaguer started- as soon as his face, too, had acquired the proper red coloring.  
"I... eh... wanted and excuse to..." A pointed glare from Aya kept Ken talking. "...to get off my shirt for Omi, and the best way I could think of was strip poker, but you can't play it with just two people, so I dragged Aya into it..." The seemingly shameless display of affection for his "close friend" sent Yohji's mind reeling, but he wasn't lost enough to forget the time and day.  
"It's a nice story, but it's Thursday. Omi is at school," the intelligent blonde informed them smugly.  
"I-iya... it's a long weekend," contradicted a small voice. Easily redder than Ken and Aya combined- and wearing nothing more than his infamous pink hat and a blanket wrapped around his waist- Omi walked out into the hallway. "We don't have school until Tuesday," he clarified, staring at the floor.  
"Masaka..." Aya, Ken, and Omi all exchanged a look, nodded, and then proceeded to "invite" Yohji into their game. After a while, they- Omi and Ken at least- got bored with the game, and Yohji was left alone with Aya. "Kids!" he remarked, turning towards his red-haired companion. "Remind me how you got dragged into this?"  
"I owed Ken a favor... I didn't expect anything quite so drastic, however," Aya replied, sliding on his jeans with his back towards Yohji. The blond man found himself looking the other over, and, showing amazing timing, Aya turned around and caught him. "Yohji-kun," he growled dangerously. Blushing for the first time in ages, the playboy attempted to reply.  
"Sorry- Aya- I've just... these dreams..." The icy-eyed gaze melted somewhat, and Yohji continued. "Ever since the mission... the one I skipped out on... you've haunted my dreams. A murderer like me, and so the only one fit..." Luckily, Aya caught on. Unluckily, he wasn't the mushy type...  
"Wakatta." With that, still sweaterless, the blade-bearing kitten took the dreamer in his arms and kissed him. OK, fine- maybe it _was_ lucky. Wide jade eyes focused on Aya's lids and then closed again, fulfilled.  
~OWARI~  
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Ta-da! --; Well, it only took me _forever_ to type... I hope it was worth it! I also hope I can get a lot more stuff typed... like more of the Grey area fic... etc. etc. I'm working on it, really! ^^; Just remember, reviews=motivation! (No, that wasn't begging... yet...)  
~Neko4~  
January 2002 


End file.
